


The Spirit of Poetry

by FoxEar



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Apocalyptic Mating Rituals, Fluff, M/M, Poetry, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxEar/pseuds/FoxEar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl doesn't know how to confess his feelings, so he decides to write Rick a poem</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit of Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! First work in this fandom, so I hope you'll all like it!

Daryl looked into the sky with his eyes narrowed. The color of it was a perfect, the exact same shade as Rick’s eyes. Daryl frowned, plunging his hand into his pocket, taking out a small piece of paper he carried around. He looked at the sky again, mesmerized with the clarity of it… No, he decided after a brief consideration, the sky wasn’t the  _ exact _ shade of Rick’s eyes after all. The constable’s eyes were a bit darker with that unspeakable emotions coursing through them, the clouds lurking just out of sight, hidden in the corners, throwing large shadows that always went unseen until they enveloped you in chilly darkness. 

The archer looked down at the paper, fished out his pencil and scribbled a few words. He considered them, looking off into the distance. This should be perfect. He sighed, glancing at the sky one more time, before he gingerly folded the scrap of paper and pushed it back inside his pocket.   
“Daryl?” A shout came from behind him and he grunted, shouldering his crossbow.    
“Yea, comin’” he shouted back, turning around and nodding at Rick. 

 

__________

 

The run was good. It was so good that Daryl let himself smoke two cigarettes instead of one, celebrating the success. As he sat there, his crossbow propped next to him, he looked at Rick. The man was sitting on a log opposite to Daryl, just a few steps away. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, long limbs kicked out in random directions. Daryl gulped, looking at them, trying to be as discreet as he could. They were just as beautiful as the man to which they were attached. Lean, muscled, long… with that freaking bow to them that made Daryl want to run his palms all over them. 

Rick had his tattered jeans on, a hole here and another there, one pocket nearly torn off after a struggle with the bad guys. But Rick still managed to look absolutely beautiful and  _ hot _ . That gave him an idea, and the archer quickly fished out his little sheet of paper along with the pencil. He chanced one more look at Rick and froze, hand poised just over the paper, pencil ready to be pressed into the surface. 

Rick was watching him, his perfect blue eyes focused sharply on Daryl. The man huffed and shrugged, looking back down and starting to write, all the time feeling Rick’s burning gaze on him, slipping over his body. Daryl scribbled away quickly, writing down the most important parts and folded the paper back. He got up and moved to the side, pretending to take a piss, only then feeling Rick’s gaze waver from his back with a quiet cough.    
  
It was back before he zipped himself up again. 

 

__________

 

The very next morning, Daryl busied himself with making coffee. Well it was shit compared to the real stuff, but even instant coffee was true gold in the time of apocalypse, so he didn’t complain. He boiled the water and poured it into the previously prepared mugs. One for him, the other one for Rick. Daryl could hear him going to take a shower half an hour ago and he thought it may be a nice way to start a day. Especially that he tried so hard to be romantic and woo the constable. And so, the archer sat down at the table, mugs ready, and waited for the man to come out. 

As soon as Rick stepped into the kitchen, Daryl almost choked on his own tongue. The leader had only a rather flimsy looking towel wrapped around his hips, chest and hair still damp from the shower. He walked in and plopped down on the chair, absentmindedly fighting with the strap of his watch. 

Daryl just stared. 

God, the man was beautiful. His overgrown hair all wet and curly, sticking in every possible direction, trembling with every delicate jostle of Rick’s head. Daryl swallowed heavily and reluctantly dropped his gaze. Fuck, he left the scrap of paper in his jacket, and there was no way he was walking out of this kitchen if Rick was still sitting at that table looking like a god himself. And so, Daryl stayed, trying to focus on what he wanted to write down, noticing the curls getting even more  _ curly _ as they dried up. He was almost sure Rick used his body wash to clean his hair, too, seeing as it twisted and turned in every direction forming delicate corkscrews in some places and wild, untamed waves in others.

Daryl tried not to look weird when Rick thanked him for the coffee and sipped at it, giving out a delighted moan.    
  
Daryl probably failed. 

 

__________

 

It wasn’t until the next evening, after a long run they had, when Daryl had to take down notes again. He was sprawled on a couch, Rick seated next to him, and they were discussing some random shit that Daryl didn’t really pay any attention to. He was never good at talking, and anyway, the proximity of the other man was too distracting to keep track of what he was talking about. After a rather long bout of yawning and face scratching, Rick got up and announced he’s going to turn in. Daryl bid him goodbye and watched the man leave. 

Then… Then he suddenly froze, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes. The scent. Rick’s scent wafted all over him unexpectedly, making him close his eyes and just feel. It was strong and spicy, the scent of a true man and Daryl imagined it must be how a real alpha male smells. The wilderness concealed with strength and hard work. Daryl took breath after stuttering breath, his head almost growing dizzy with it. 

He sat like that for good five minutes, incapable of doing anything else. It was as if his brain switched off suddenly. When he could finally move, he took out the little piece of paper and quickly scribbled on it, pushing it back into his pocket as soon as he was done. With jerky movements he stood and went out of the house, filling his lungs with the night air, trying to get his brain to work once more. 

 

__________

 

When he woke up the next morning, Daryl walked out of his bedroom and attempted to make it to the bathroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by a very awake, very dressed Rick, who was digging his knife into something with a single-minded focus. Daryl frowned and stepped closer to the dresser over which Rick was bent, looking over the man’s shoulder with curiosity. Rick acknowledged him with a grunt, not even turning around to look at him, too wrapped up in what he was doing. Daryl looked down at the dresser.

There, between the hard surface and Rick’s beautiful, slender hand, was his belt. Well, not the gun belt Daryl liked to look at, but the other, smaller and usually hidden belt that actually held Rick’s ratty trousers on his ass. Daryl usually didn’t pay it any attention, certainly not to the point of sticking his tongue out, much like Rick did now. The constable had a knife in his other hand and was digging a new hole in the belt with mad precision. Daryl frowned, straightening back up and looked Rick from top to bottom. 

Well…  _ especially _ his bottom. Rick got even more slender in the past weeks, which wasn’t a surprise, not with how little food was left and how much fighting they had. Rick’s ass was a bit smaller now, at least in Daryl’s opinion. But as long as opinions went, Daryl didn’t mind one bit. Not when all he could think about were those sinful hips wrapped in the heavy belt. 

Daryl shrugged, giving Rick one last glance, admiring the slope of his back, and exited the room. He made for bathroom, one hand already in his pocket and wrapping around the little sheet of paper. 

 

__________

 

A few days later, Rick cornered Daryl on a run. They had already swiped three locations clean before they stopped for a break, pulling the car to the side of the road. After a quick check of the perimeter that brought no walkers, they decided to sit on a fallen log and eat some stale crackers they managed to find. It was a peaceful moment, broken only by the steady crunching noises. And of course Rick had to go and open his mouth. 

“Ya wanna talk about somethin’, Daryl?” The constable started, glancing sideways at the archer, before he continued his munching. Daryl shrugged and grunted, not really thinking he should bring it up  _ now. _ But then, after a soft sigh of defeat coming from Rick, he decided he should act after all. God only knew how much time they still had together, and the odds it would be a long while were slim at best in this world. Daryl finished his cracker and cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. 

“I kinda… wrote you somethin’,” Daryl mumbled and took out a tiny piece of paper. Rick frowned, eyes going soft once he spotted the small rectangle. So that was what Daryl was doing all this time. He wrote Rick something… What something? A letter? A poem? The leader put his unfinished pack of crackers down, all the time watching as Daryl turned the scrap of paper around in his hands. After a moment Daryl sighed and pushed the paper to Rick, turning his head away as soon as Rick’s fingers closed around it. 

The constable took it gingerly and blinked, mesmerized. Then he unfolded it with gentle fingers and took a deep breath as he began to read. 

As soon as he read the second line all the air in his lungs left him in a rush. He closed his eyes, chest heaving, as the most ridiculous laugh escaped him. He was dimly aware of Daryl whipping his head around and looking at him, but he couldn’t really pay attention to it. Not when he was laughing so hard that he was actually wheezing. 

It took a longer moment, and Daryl managed to stay silent through all of it, while Rick let out laugh after manic laugh, spurred on by Daryl’s silence and his own stupid noises. When he finally calmed down enough to actually properly inhale, he looked back at the small scrap of paper. 

 

  

 

He chanced a glance at Daryl and the archer had to smile despite himself. Rick had those beautiful crinkles around his eyes that spoke of mirth and happiness, and in that moment he was so beautiful that Daryl could just kiss him stupid right there and then. As it turned out, he did, a moment later.   
“Come ‘ere,” Rick whispered, sneaking a hand around his back and leaning in to steal a small, sweet kiss. When he tried to break it, Daryl growled and pulled the leader in for another one, this time a more passionate one.   


“That’s the best poem I’ve ever seen, Daryl.” Rick whispered when their lips finally parted and Daryl just smirked at him.   
“So… that a  _ yes _ ?” Daryl asked, looking a bit self-conscious, and Rick smiled that radiant smile of his, answering.  
“That’s a  _ hell yes! _ ” He stated, diving in for another round of kissing. 

Later, when they were coming back to Alexandria, both of them fooling around like teenagers, joking and telling stupid stories, Rick suddenly brought the topic back.   
“God.. I thought ya were writing that poem over the past week or so… always scribbling somethin’ down on that piece of paper.”    
“Nah, man,” Daryl grunted and fished the scrap out of his pocket. He showed it to Rick, and the constable had a hard time keeping his laugh down. 

“A shopping list?” He asked, eyes tearing up with the effort it took not to giggle like a madman. Daryl shrugged but smirked.    
“Well, had to remember what to bring from the next run.” He offered, folding the paper again and pushing it back into his pocket.

 

  
  


Rick frowned.  
“What was the last item on the list? The crossed-out one?” He asked curiously, eyes focusing on the road.    
“‘t was you,” Daryl mumbled back, chancing a glance at Rick. The man was beaming again, smiling that sunshine smile like there was no tomorrow, and the archer grinned a little grin on his own, too. 


End file.
